


Coping

by allonsytastic



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Human AU, Panic Attacks, something akin to Hurt/Comfort I suppose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 18:35:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10169273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsytastic/pseuds/allonsytastic
Summary: I'm holding on to life by a headphone cord - my stereo cable has become my lifeline.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written from Twelve's POV

_It's been a good day so far. No panic attacks._

_Yet._

 

 _Taking the bus home from work._ I feel confined - the side walls are too close and there are too many people around - talking on the phone, shuffling their feet, coughing - it's an irritating cacophony, accompanied by the high-pitched whirring of the engine and the intermittent, piercing squeal of the rear suspension. There's a woman in the back who keeps humming the same melody over and over - a sequence of no more than five notes on repeat. The incessant bark of a dog sounds from the front of the vehicle.

I feel myself tensing up.

 

 _The bus stops._ A fresh heap of passengers enter the cabin and suddenly, I'm surrounded - driven into a corner. I twist and turn but I cannot escape the ever-growing crowd of people. I feel like I'm drowning in the commuting mass of human matter. It's _too much_ , the unbearable heat generated by too many people squeezed into an infinitesimal increment of public transportation volume, the chaotic superposition of noises assaulting my ears and the _constant physical contact._

I can feel the first signs of anxiety rising up inside.

I hold my breath and count to ten. _Just hold on. You can do this. Everything will be fine, it will pass._

 

But it doesn't. It's no good - my entire body is constricting, every muscle strained - my shoulders drawn up, my hands clenched to fists - the knuckles white in exertion. I'm unconsciously screwing up my face, shutting my eyes and furrowing my brow in agony. My breathing has become ragged and I can feel myself edging closer to collapse.

There's a tremble in my hands as I reach into my coat to retrieve the only thing that can help me now. My fingers are slippery with a thin layer of perspiration that's rapidly begun to form on my palms, and I fumble through the contents of my pocket, desperately searching for the remedy to the panic that's inevitably building up inside me.

 _There they are!_ When I finally get hold of my headphones, I yank them out of my jacket, pulling too hard and almost having them fly out of my hands in the process. I nervously untangle the cable with quivering fingers and plug them into my phone, turning the music up as far as it will  go and drowning out the noise around me.

My headphones have become my dearest companions. When I'm left to my own devices, overwhelmed by the sheer mass of external sensations raining down onto me, all I can do is shut everything else out and focus on my music. I'm holding on to life by a headphone cord - my stereo cable has become my lifeline. I close my eyes and let myself get lost in the rhythm. As long as I have my headphones, nothing will harm me. I'm untouchable, hidden in my own personal shell of sound.

 

When I finally open my eyes again, I find my gaze met by a pair of brown eyes. I tentatively remove my headphones and, for a moment, the two of us are just looking at each other. Blinking. Looking. Trying to figure each other out.

_"Are you alright?"_

That's all it takes. _Three words and a friendly smile._ I release the breath I'd been holding, the tension leaving my body, the weight lifted off my shoulders.

 

We know each other. In a way. Apart from my music, she's the only _other_ reason why daily travel on public transport is even remotely bearable. She takes the same route as me, getting on the bus two stations after mine - always carrying a book in her hand and a smile on her face whenever she spots me. It's just a small gesture but I appreciate it nonetheless. In a world full of self-obsessed maniacs who keep screaming their opinions out into the void of the internet, small smiles seem to have become a rarity.

It feels like we share a bond - like we're the only sane people here in this crazed crowd of self-absorbed madmen. The girl with the books and the guy with the headphones. Literature-girl and headphone-boy. It makes her sound like a superhero and, maybe, she really is. Because I can't explain what just happened. Because I can't explain why I'm no longer in a state of uncontrollable panic. Because I can't comprehend how three _tiny, unassuming words_ and a sympathetic expression saved me from chaos.

But that's alright. Because we're still looking at each other and she's still smiling at me. And that's not something that I need to understand. I just need it to _be_.

 


End file.
